I remember the shooting pains in my stomach when I arrived at Newark Liberty Airport for my first solo trip. It was late summer in 1998 and I was a shy, tiny fifth grader headed to visit some family in Columbus, Ohio. My parents took me through security, hugged me tightly, and waved goodbye as an airline personnel took me to board the plane. Looking back at my mom and dad with tears in my eyes, I nervously waved back. I faked a smile, clenched my fists, and kept moving forward.

It wasn’t until my early 20s that the limits of my social anxiety became more of an impediment. My career in fashion required me to travel across the U.S. and abroad, and when I learned I’d have to spend time alone navigating unfamiliar cities, I recoiled. What if I didn’t know anyone? Who would I talk to? How would I get around? What if I didn’t speak the language? Of course, I was privileged to have the opportunity at all, but anxiety disorders don’t discriminate. And while I've had these feelings my entire life, I wasn't diagnosed until my late 20s. No matter who you are or what your life circumstances may be, chronic anxiety can suck all the fun and excitement out of life in one quick instant.

My very first solo business trip was to shoot street style in Austin during South by Southwest when I was 24. On the first day of the trip, I compiled a list of places to visit and made a tentative schedule for each day—my anxiety gives an affinity for extreme organization while traveling—and then set out to explore and take photos of people’s outfits. My stomach was full of breakfast tacos and butterflies. I wondered how people would react when I approached them: Would they ignore me or laugh in my face? There was the chance that no one would even want their picture taken. Getting over the fear of introducing myself to strangers was no easy feat but I had no choice. My job was relying on me to deliver.

Every time I approached someone new, I grew a little less scared about doing it. Most people were surprised and delighted to have their picture taken, and I soon learned that a compliment is an easy way to get a conversation going. Better still, it helped me get to know Austin better, and I came away armed with tips on the best places to go in the city, from dive bars to restaurants to vintage stores. On the plane ride back, I befriended a radio host sitting next to me—something I never would have done previously.

After that trip, I started to think that maybe connecting with people in faraway places didn’t have to be so anxiety-ridden. By being genuinely interested in people, many in turn showed me the same respect. Traveling alone didn’t mean having to be lonely. In fact, I felt empowered to travel solo and grateful for the personal growth it had afforded me. A small shift in my all-too-often rigid mentality became a game-changer in how I approached travel—and life in general.

Nick Lu

So when an opportunity to travel to China arose the following year, I decided to tack on a visit to Seoul, and asked a friend of a friend if I could crash in her apartment. Was the idea going to South Korea to stay with someone I had only met once or twice a bit nutty? Maybe, but that trip taught me how eager people are to make you feel at home in their own space and city. My new friend showered me with gifts (a pack of cards depicting iconic landmarks, candies, and magnets), paid for my meals even when I begged her not to (Korean BBQ and bibimbap), and went out of her way to make sure I was having a good time. She was the best tour guide I could’ve asked for, taking me places I would have never discovered by myself. She even shared her tiny twin bed with me.

Since then, I've started actively visiting people I’d only met a handful of times—sometimes even just through social media. It’s taken me all over the place, from Tuscany to Montreal, and led to some of my most memorable travel situations: a thrift store owner who took me shopping; a coffee meetup in Chicago with a group of female artists I found on Instagram; gallery hopping in Los Angeles with art lovers I'd discovered online.

So when I was asked to speak at a university near Auckland, New Zealand, two years ago I was ecstatic. But then I realized I’d have to take three flights to get there, be over 4,000 miles from New York, and, of course, be faced with not knowing a single soul once I landed. Like clockwork, I reached out to my social network and learned that a friend of a friend lived there. Not only did that connection wind up making the trip, but it led me to one of the most incredible places I’ve ever been: a coastal city called Piha, where my new friend’s parents had a beach house.

Walking barefoot along the beach and looking out at the endless sky, I felt so far from home. Though I barely knew the person I was with, I felt secure and proud of myself. After all, staying true to myself in my career had led me somewhere I had never imagined I’d go to. Befriending people everywhere I went, I began to realize, meant that I could build connections all over the globe. Knowing that has made me feel less alone every time I board a plane somewhere new. What was once something way outside my comfort zone is now an integral part of my identity—and I have my experiences traveling alone to thank for that.